


Hello Dear. Tell Everyone. Hello

by coffee_bae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Radios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_bae/pseuds/coffee_bae
Summary: Vignettes in a chronological order about the boys receiving proper goodbyes from the family they've lost (well, most of them)





	Hello Dear. Tell Everyone. Hello

**Author's Note:**

> Me: okay I have this. few hundred word writing exercise to keep the mind sharp  
> Also Me: *writes 2000 words*  
> Me: alrighty then
> 
>  
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> [My tumblr](https://lavender-gunpowder.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: days after posting this, I find grammar mistakes. As a descriptive linguist, I'm forgiving when it comes to syntactic variance, but these mistakes just make it hard to understand the semantic context of the whole sentence and why it exists in the story altogether. (Linguistics has left me a broken student, send help)

i.  
  
Sitting in the Hammerhead caravan wasn’t the most luxurious place to relax, but it was comfortable enough to rest Noctis’ battle-weary body after a difficult hunt that day. The only real drawback was the humidity of the shower combining with the heat of the Leiden desert. Despite the bare necessity of taking hunts to support himself, as well as his friends, it felt good to sink his weapons into vicious daemons, feral beasts and sadistic Magitek soldiers. Those times were the best way to process his grief, he surmised; to destroy the _things_ that had destroyed what little happiness he’d held onto when he left the Crown City for Altissia.  
   
There was still pain associated with thinking about the things he’d had to endure in the span of a few months, including the news of his father.  
  
As he dried his hair with his towel, Noctis thought back to the conversation he had with his father on the steps of the Citadel. He cringed at how dismissive he was towards the last time he would ever be able to look his father in the eye, let alone argue with him about sending Noct out of the city knowing that he wouldn’t survive. He knew that his father raised him to experience a normal childhood in the midst of his royal duties, but he still felt that his father hadn’t taught him well enough in terms of being a leader.  
   
In that moment, the radio suddenly shrieked.  
  
_“My son,”_ it crackled. _“Forgive me. Wanted to. Save you. Sorry.”_ Noctis wandered over to the radio, hovering his hand over it to turn it off, but then it started to get more chilling with the words it uttered. _“Love you. November. Oscar. Charlie. Tango. India. Sierra.”_ Having taken lessons on how to interpret radio messages, as soon as Noctis decoded the message, he broke down in tears.  
  
The others walked back in at that very moment, bewildered as to why he’d fallen to the ground so suddenly. A fresh well of grief opened inside Noctis’ heart, knowing that his father was practically begging for his forgiveness from wherever he was. It reminded him of the times when his father would sit down and make an effort to connect with him. When politics didn’t get in the way of their familial bond. There were so many more things he wanted to say to his father, but the overwhelm from the radio message taxed Noctis.  
  
“D-Dad…” It was the last thing that passed Noctis’ lips before he fell unconscious.  
  
When he awoke, he could tell it was dark. Padding his hands around for his phone, he found it close to his pillow. Opening it, the time read 2:43am. The others were asleep, or at least they appeared to be asleep. Either way, the serene atmosphere of the caravan felt like it was a million miles away from the events that transpired earlier that evening. Setting his phone down next to his pillow, he lied back into the bed. That night he went to sleep without the fear of nightmares attacking him.  
   
He would try to dream of happier times with his father.

* * *

ii.  
  
After calming Iris down from her sobbing, Gladio moved her to the bed and pulled a chair up next to it to make sure she didn’t fall victim to nightmares. He couldn’t be any happier to see his sister, but knowing that their father wasn’t there marred the reunion. It was a sudden and violent realisation when it materialised in his mind: he was now the head of the Amicitia household, the new Shield of the King. A King without a crown, nor a kingdom. Gladio had spent his whole life preparing for the day his King would take the throne. His father had made sure to drill that into his head, turning it into a mantra as the words morphed together.  
  
Gladio had spent many days with Clarus Amicitia, the Shield of the King, watching as he stood on par with his liege. He’d spent countless number of hours with Clarus Amicitia, a worthy opponent for sparring. But there are many more times he’d relished in the moment with Clarus Amicitia, his father. His truly fondest memories took him back to when they went camping, or when Gladio was sick and the only person he could stand to have by his side was his dad. In recent memory, he wished that his father understood how difficult it was to protect the Crown and protect the ones he held dear.  
  
But those times would never return. Resigning himself to that fact, he stood up and walked over to the radio by the window. Flipping through the stations, he was growing desperate to find one that wasn’t lamenting over the state of Insomnia or reporting about how much stronger the Niffs were getting each day. He let out a huff and turned the radio off.  
   
Heading back to check on Iris, Gladio stopped in his tracks hearing the static on the radio. He nearly tripped over the carpet trying to turn it off, lest it wake Iris. Flicking the power switch off, there was silence. Until the static noise echoed throughout the room. Gladio turned slowly in horror, staggering back to the radio.  
   
_“Golf. Lima. Alpha. Delta. India. Oscar. Be. At. Peace. Take care. Of sister. Take care. You.”_ Another person who took lessons on radio communication, his face fell when he realised what the radio. There was no way that message wasn’t directed at him. G.L.A.D.I.O. He knew that it was for him, but that fact didn’t make this any less painful.  
   
If his dad could hear his intentions, then maybe voicing them would also garner a response. “Dad, I miss you so much,” he bellowed. “I don’t know how to go on-” The struggle to breathe and talk at the same time left so much unsaid. In Gladio’s perspective, letting himself be this vulnerable was a sign of weakness and he needed to stop.  
   
Gladio put his hands over his mouth in an attempt to mask the noise. Without the noise, sound became movement and the vibrations caused by his body’s response to release the pain he was going through made him panic. He kneeled down, lower, lower still, until his body met the floor and constricted itself into foetal position.  
   
If it weren’t his friends returning from the markets at that moment, Gladio would’ve curled up on the floor all night. In the commotion of the others attempting to comfort him, Gladio could only look on at Iris’ sleeping figure. The kingdom he was charged to protect had been reduced to a small amount of friends, and his remaining family. But by the Gods, he swore that he would protect them, even in exchange for his own life.  
   
He would make his father proud.

* * *

iii.

Ebony in hand, Ignis stood at the kitchen window overlooking the waters of Cape Caem. As a strategist, he was delegated to take the most logical approach in any situation. That was instructed to him as a younger man, among other things. One thing that no one ever taught, but wished someone gave an explanation, was how to deal with grief. It was easy to forget that Ignis was twenty-two, barely older than the Prince, no, King he was to advise. Yet the expectation that he would be leagues more mature than anyone else in the kingdom had stunted his emotional growth. His friends in particular had tasked themselves with using every opportunity presented to them to point out just how straight-laced and calculating he was.

He just wanted to scream and rage, do anything to get rid of the anger that was quivering in his bones. But then, what good would come out of it? He’d just be left with a body depleted of energy and a huge mess he’d have to clean himself. There was no way in Ifrit’s flames he’d let his friends be responsible for handling the chaos brought upon by his grief.

Ever since he’d received the news of the fall of Insomnia, he went through a laundry list of people who didn’t make it out. It hurt the most to think of his uncle, powerless to the Empire’s barrage of bullets and bombs. There was the personal connection of course, his only blood relative with him in the Crown City. But there was also the fact that his uncle was the one who’d brought Ignis to Insomnia, to be raised alongside the then Prince Noctis. Which in turn led him to be trained to protect the Prince as part of his retinue, long enough that he was easily able to sent as part of the convoy to escort Noctis to Altissia for his wedding as a part of the treaty delegated by Niflheim and Lucis. Every single event, no matter how circumstantial, had led to the survival of the last Scientia. Several months on, that fact would simmer in the back of his mind, rising at the most inconvenient times. 

The thought made his heart drop. Absentmindedly, he sipped his now cold coffee. Rays of sunlight streamed in through the window, causing Ignis to retreat to a shadier part of the kitchen. The pathetic fallacy was not lost on him. A man so sad that he’d rather wallow in his sorrow than let happiness embrace him. The radio stood in a corner darker than what he was currently shrouded in. He would’ve liked to have some background noise to distract from the impending breakdown, however it was still too early to cause a commotion. The radio itself thought otherwise.

Ringing out, the sound of it tuning at a bizarrely fast rate nearly saw the end of Ignis’ mug of coffee. It started to scare him when after turning the radio off it turned itself on again. This time, Ignis heard words in succession forming sentences.

 _“I watch. Over you. My. Boy.”_ Who could this be? Was this King Regis reaching out to Noctis? _“India. Golf. November. India. Sierra. Stay strong. I. Believe in. You.”_ When he’d taken lessons on radio communication, Ignis scoffed at the idea that he’d ever need to remember any of this. Nevertheless, he memorised what he was taught, and he couldn’t be more thankful to his uncle than he was right now.

He would keep his resolve in honour of his uncle.

* * *

iv.

Prompto couldn’t handle listening to what the others were discussing as the boat rocked up and down with the waves. The others were swapping tales of their communiqués from their family lost in the fall of Insomnia. Part of Prompto believed that if he hadn’t received one himself already, then that might mean his parents were still alive. It was possible that they were looking for a way to get in touch with him, but because he was moving around so much, getting any message to him was going to be an uphill battle. The cynical side of him however, invaded his brain with the thought that even in the afterlife, his parents wanted nothing to do with him. Or maybe, this was something only people who were connected to royalty were allowed to experience. It was a stupid theory, but it persisted nonetheless.

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend why the fact his parents weren’t in contact with was affecting him so much. Growing up, he was hard-pressed to remember the times he’d actually seen his parents in the house, or called him, or really made any attempt to check that he hadn’t died while they were away. He wasn’t ungrateful for the things his parents had provided him with, but he still would’ve appreciated being in a household that didn’t consisted of just himself and sometimes the rat that lived in the rafters. 

“Welcome to Altissia, boys!” Cid yelled across the noise of the motor. The city sparkled under the sun, almost as if all the buildings were polished in tribute to the arrival of Noct. All negative thoughts drifted away as Prompto summoned his camera from the Armiger, getting to work on documenting every angle of the city gates. As they docked, the thoughts engulfed his brain once more. He took one last look at the boat, spending too much of his focus on the radio near the steering wheel. He had to run to catch up to the others, who had stopped when they realised Prompto wasn’t with them. 

The radio blared to life.


End file.
